


Serenadipity

by arachnidstardis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnidstardis/pseuds/arachnidstardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Serenade and Serendipity)</p><p>Jane still plays the piano even in college, and has a time slot scheduled every week to go practice, just to have something to look forward to.  This week, someone else shows up at the same time.  </p><p>Or, as 13LuckyWishes said, "In which Dave tries to look cool and flirt with random cute girls and it works for some reason."</p><p>Beta'd by 13LuckyWishes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane is rudely interrupted. 
> 
> The song is "Song of the Sea" by Cake Bake Betty (which I found appropriate in more ways than one), if you want to look it up. There is no drum part, actually.

The music hall smelled of wet velvet and metal when Jane banged open the front door.  Shaking out her wet umbrella, she deposited it in the holder inside the entryway, humming as she scurried up the stairs to the third floor.  Her turquoise messenger bag banged on her hip with every stair.  The nearer Jane got to the rooms full of musical instruments, the more she could smell the warm scent of dark wood from the dim old hallways.  

Being a senior culinary major was a lot of work sometimes (despite the delicious rewards), and after a tough day preparing a meal for a midterm and an even tougher time scrubbing the grease out from under her fingers, Jane heard the smooth ivory keys of the piano beckoning.  She walked a little faster over the dark blue carpet, past oil paintings of revered musical alumni hung against deep reddish wood paneling.  

The card reader emitted a tiny flourish as Jane unlocked the room with her ID, slid in, and settled onto the bench in front of a baby grand piano.  

Practice rooms in Sassacre Hall were rather spacious, with enough room for the piano, a drum kit, and several seats for small groups of musicians to work together with their own instruments.  The walls all had green chalkboards with ledger lines on them, the wood lining the rest of the space a few shades lighter than the outside hall.  Jane took off her shoes and kicked them away over the surface of the flat grey rug before lifting her sheet music out of her bag.  She let the bag fall next to the bench and rifled through the stack of music to find the latest piece she was working on.  

Her self-dubbed “bffsy” Roxy wasn’t available to sing loudly and barely on-key along with Jane’s rendition of “Poker Face,” so she opted to play something more melancholy, given the overcast and drizzly day outside.  Setting the music onto the piano, she gently started the song, the rhythmic loops of the bass and treble parts carrying her like waves.  

The first verse and chorus went by with Jane lost in the piano, but as the second approached she softly started to sing.  

_“[I was alive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-NytsxGVUI), for a moment you see; he was there when I woke, he was there when I wo-”_

“That’s a mighty fine voice you have there,” a deep voice drawled from behind her.  

Jane whirled around so quickly that her music fluttered to the ground and she slammed her shin into the side of the piano.  

“Goodness gracious!! How the fresh fudge did you get in here?” Jane exclaimed.  She held her leg and turned to look at the intruder.  

The man grinned, leaning against the closed door.  “The same way you did, I imagine.”  He waved a student ID at her with a grin before tucking it into the pocket of his bomber jacket.  Flicking his head quickly, he swept the long blond bangs sticking out of his beanie to the side slightly.   They immediately slid back down over the tops of his gold-rimmed Aviators, but he seemed unperturbed.  

Jane stared at him in shock.  “But-”

“No, keep going, don’t let little ol’ me interrupt you,” he continued, ambling over to the other side of the room.  “Lemme just hop on the drums here and we’ll see if I can break out some fresh funky beats to accompany you.  Beats so fresh their mother regrets letting them befriend that rebel kid next door like their bosom brother.  The beats get away from you sometimes, they’re doin’ their own thing so much, bombin’ down the street on their Razor scooter like they own the fucking neighborhood even though they’re probably all of twelve years old, terrorizing smaller children, and cats, dogs, squirrels...”  He sat down on the stool behind the drumkit and pauses in his rambling.  “Where was I?”

Jane swallowed.  “Fresh beats?” she threw out tentatively.

“Oh yeah.”  He grinned, pulling a pair of percussion brushes out of his jacket and tossing it to the side, revealing a ratty red t-shirt and a black and red scarf.  “Well, get on with it, hot stuff.”

She kept staring at him.  “Who the hell are you?” _And who wears sunglasses inside? she thought._

“Dave Strider,” he drawled back, “And I don’t hear any music, little lady.”

Jane glared at him and turned back to the piano.  “If you’re really going to insist, buster.” She paused.  “My name is Jane Crocker, by the way.”

“Fucking radical to meet you, Jane,” he said.  “Let’s get these sick jams going before we all get too healthy to appreciate how goddamn diseased these beats are gonna be.”

She rolled her eyes and started the song again, plucking out the bass line steadily.  Dave paused a measure, bobbing his head in the corner of her vision, then tapped the brushes lightly on the snare and crash cymbal.  

His beats were unsure at first, weaving in and out of matching hers, before settling in and backing the piano with a syncopated rhythm.  

Jane began singing softly, her high, clear voice ringing over the backdrop of sound.  More confident now, Dave’s drumming grew louder, confidently backing Jane.  By the second verse, he hummed a harmony behind her ever-growing voice, grinning when she smiled in between words.  

It was a melancholy song, but Jane felt her cheeks warm anyways.  The last few notes plinked out on the piano, and she rested her hands on top of the keys.  

“Well, that was nearly as beautiful as you,” Dave drawled from behind the drum kit.  Jane blushed further and decidedly didn’t turn his way.  

“It was definitely something, hoo hoo!!” She laughed nervously.  “I don’t believe the original song has a percussion accompaniment either.  That was quite fun!”

“You’re absolutely fucking baller at the piano though. Like, you’re just tearing it up. Softly, though.  It’s like you’re petting a rabbit and being really gentle to the rabbit, because you love your rabbit, but that rabbit is just doing whatever rabbits do when they’re really fucking happy.  Do rabbits purr? Man, that’d be fucking radical.”  

Jane peered sideways quickly to see Dave holding his chin in his hand, looking off into the distance.

“Maybe they make tiny ‘peep’ noises? No, those are chicks. The ones of the baby chicken variety, not the female kind, although those do sometimes too.  Girls make adorable noises sometimes when they aren’t paying attention.  Hey, how did you start playing the piano, anyways?”

She smiled softly and ran her hands over the keys a bit.  “My dad taught me when I was little.  He loved the piano, especially ragtime music.  I don’t know why, really, but those were the first pieces I learned.”

“Hey, Janey.”

Jane hummed in response, still lost in thoughts of her father.  Suddenly, there were hands on hers.  Jane’s heart skipped a beat.  Dave’s shoulders brushed hers and she felt a breath on her head.  

“Show me how to play the bassline?”  He murmured into her hair.  

Jane gulped.  “S-sure?”

She moved her hand towards the bass end of the piano, Dave’s hand moving with hers as she rocked her hand slowly over the notes that made up the beginning of the song.  “Like that.”  

He moved his head so what felt like his cheekbone was resting on the right side of her head.  “Play the other half?”

Jane nodded slightly, trying not to disturb his head on hers, and after finishing a loop in the bass, began the treble portion in tandem.  

Dave began to quietly beatbox about an inch and a half from Jane’s ear, and she jumped, stopping the music.  

“Good heavens, Dave!” Jane scooted away from Dave a bit and turned to glare at him.  “Warn a lady next time!”  

He just laughed quietly and spread his arms, palms upturned.  Jane glowered in direct opposition to his effortless shit-eating smirk.  

She “harrumph”ed and turned back to the keys.  “Fine, then. Beatbox away, Mr. Strider, but please don’t spit into my ear.”  Jane then started playing again without any warning, causing Dave to miss several beats and hurriedly catch up, pretending that he crescendoed in on purpose.  

After ending the song a third time, Jane stretched her arms and shoulders, yawned, and banged her hands back down onto the piano, beginning a louder and happier piece, raising her eyebrows at Dave as he backed away from the piano, still beatboxing.  He slipped proper drumsticks out of his sleeves (somehow, he had room in what appeared to be a rather tight shirt.  The man was an enigma), and layered more percussion over her piano, bobbing his head and smiling slightly.  Jane belted out song after song, her shoulders relaxing and her voice becoming more powerful, shaking the piano with every key chord.  

With the conclusion of one of her favorite songs, Jane breathed out, her chest lighter than it’d been in weeks.  

“Whew!! Dave, did you have anything that you wante-”

She was interrupted by a heavy knock on the door, then muffled shouting.   _“Hey, you instrument hogging imbeciles of the highest caliber, I want to fucking practice now instead of standing here with my trumpet up my ass like a fucking clown.”_

Jane’s eyes shot to her watch.  “Three twenty-five? Dave, we’ve been in here almost a half-hour extra!”  She jumped up, gathering all her sheet music as quickly as possible and shoving it into her bag, dropped several sheets and scrambling to catch them.  

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it.  I know the trumpet ass-clown out there, I got this.”  Dave exited the room, not before handing Jane a stray music sheet, and she could hear his low voice muffled through the thick door.  

_“...can’t fucking hang on a minute, Strider, I have a concert Friday!! .... Yes. Okay. Yes, Dave, I’ve got it, you dingo with glasses.  I can stand here and shove my source of scholarship further inside my rectum for another minute.”_

Dave poked his head back into the room.  “All set, Crocker?”

She scurried to the door, arms tight around her bag, and nodded.  The cantankerous individual outside the door turned out to be a short, weedy Hispanic kid with a mop of dark hair and circles under his eyes nearly the same color, scowling like he was getting paid to be as grumpy as physically possible.  

“Okay, Karkat, we’re out of your hair now.  All of your hair.  Have fun now.”  Dave shot finger pistols at the guy and backed away, ignoring the Italian salute he got in return.  The door slammed and Dave dropped his arms.  “He’s nice when he doesn’t have a hair across his nearly concave ass, which is never.  Can I walk you back to your dorm?  Or apartment, I guess you might be an upperclassman.  Upperclasswoman.  There really should be a better word for that.”  

Jane bumped Dave with her hip lightly.  “I’d love that,” she said with a smile.  “I live on Wofford Street.”

“Then let’s go,” he said, slipping his arm into hers.  

 

 


	2. A Mullet is a Type of Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chance encounter.

Jane strolled down the street, taking in the chilly air and the sun peeking through the clouds.  The rain of the past week had subsided into occasional mist and fog, and then hardened into frosts.  Winter was upon the city.  Before leaving the dorm, Jane had grabbed her favorite puffy vest and fingerless gloves (a completely unironic birthday gift from her best friend in high school, Dirk), but she could feel the tips of her nose and ears going numb.   _Time for some coffee,_ she thought, and took a quick detour past the bank and antiques shop to go to her favorite, out-of-the-way cafe.  

Freshly Mullet was a tiny shop tucked between a record shop and a second-hand clothing shop, with a hand-carved wooden sign hanging out front.  Sea glass tinkled as Jane pushed the door open, walking inside.  The walls were painted pastel blue, photos of the ocean framed in driftwood on the walls.  A few people sat scattered at several mismatched tables and chairs.   The common theme among the pieces of furniture was old wood, but it ranged in color and style from light to dark, polished to unpolished, carved to unmarked.  Jane took a deep breath in, the warm air brushing against her face.  

“Hi Jane! Nice to _sea_ you again!!” A tall black woman bustled out of the back, violently pink dreads swishing behind her as she tied on a pale green apron.  

Jane smiled.  Feferi Peixes made a mean cappuccino and could throw fish puns at you every step of the way.  There wasn’t a bubblier person in the city, joke completely intended.  

“Hello, Feferi! Can I have my usual, please?”

Feferi smiled, twirling a paper cup on her finger as she started pushing buttons on the antique coffee machine.  “Shore!”  They both snickered.  

The sea glass tinkled again as another customer entered the shop.  Jane closed her eyes and breathed in again, the warm air and soft murmurs of the other customers in conjunction with the hissing of the coffee maker a soothing combination.

“Hey, hot stuff.  Can I get you a coffee as sweet as yourself?”

Jane’s eyes shot open and she turned quickly to face the voice.  Dave Strider stood next to her, tall as ever, smirking slightly.  He leans his hip against the counter, leaving Jane to look him up and down, from his black skinny jeans and ratty leather boots to his bomber jacket and deep red turtleneck.  A black and grey beanie perched atop his head, and his gold-rimmed aviators caught the glint of the seashell-shaped light fixture above.

She smirked back at him.  “No thanks.  I just ordered, and I take my coffee black anyways.”

“Uh.”  He looked crestfallen, until she grinned and poked him in the shoulder.  

“Thanks, Dave; I can tell you’re as sweet as _your_ coffee.”

Feferi handed Jane her coffee, which she exchanged for a five-dollar bill and some ones.  “I’ll get Dave’s, too.”

Dave jumped.  “Um.  Do you make mocha lattes?”

“Sure do!! One chocolatey, milky drink coming right up!”  Feferi hummed what sounded suspiciously like the _Little Mermaid_ soundtrack as she turned to the espresso machine.

“So, uh, I’ve got this English paper coming up, and as fucking stellar as writing about the inner machinations of some obscure author’s head in relation to his most unknown work was, Rose I ain’t, and I was wondering if maybe you’d want to take a look at it?”  Dave scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head, ending his sentence with a hesitant smile.  

Jane raised an eyebrow.  “You do know that I’m a culinary major, right?” She sipped her coffee.  “Excellent work as always, Feferi,” she said, dropping a few ones into the tip jar (a large conch shell).  

“Well, yeah, but my bro always says that you’re a stickler for grammar.  Not like the Third Reich kind, more like a grade school teacher who thwacks you with a ruler for saying “y’all” in class when really you’re just a simple seven-year-old from Texas living in Seattle with a bit of an attitude problem more than anything.”  As always, Dave’s rambling was accompanied by much waving of the hands and nodding of the head.  

“Wait, your bro? Brother?” Jane frowned.  

“Yeah, Dirk.  Haven’t talked to him much since he moved to Silicon Valley to form that startup with the Zahhak kids but he sends the occasional scary-as-fuck sex toy up here to remind me he cares.”  Dave took his coffee from Feferi and sipped it carefully.  “Mm. Nice touch with the cinnamon.”

“Thanks!!” Feferi beamed.  

Jane looked down at her gloves.  “Used to date one Jake English, has now sworn off boys in favor of robotics?”

The door tinkled again as someone exited the shop, and Jane and Dave looked at each other steadily.  

“You’re that Jane chick he always talked about in high school, the one with the massive boner for Betty Crocker and old detective comics, aren’t you?”

“And you’re his little brother, with the unhealthy obsession with dead stuff and photography blog....” Jane stared intensely into the depths of her coffee cup.  “Shucks buster.”

Dave poked her in the shoulder with a mittened hand.  “Maaybeee we could look at my paper and catch up a bit, then?” He steered them towards a small table in the front of the shop, where a fat black backpack sat on one chair.  

“So, uh, you look a lot different than you did in high school.  In a really, really good way, mind you, but definitely different.”  Dave pulled out his laptop from the bag, tugging the foam case off of it and tapping in his password.  

Jane nursed her coffee a bit as she considered his comment.  “Well, I cut most of my hair off and stopped relaxing it.  I dress how I want to now, too.  With the failed rebranding effort of Crockercorp when I was a junior, there wasn’t as much pressure on me to be the perfect little heiress princess, so I didn’t have to wear those obnoxious schoolgirl uniforms either.  Callie helped me redo most of my wardrobe, and here I am!” She gestured to her loosely cut pants and oversized hoodie under her boxy vest.  “To borrow a phrase from Meenah, I ‘stopped givin’ a sparkly fuck bout all that girly shit.’”

“Who’s Meenah?” Dave passed the laptop to her, his paper already up on the screen.  

Jane scrutinized the title.  “ _‘yo honestly who gives a fuck about this absolute chickenshit bullshit’_? Dave, what?”

He snickered into his hand.  “Ohh, I keep forgetting about that.  It’s most definitely a placeholder title.  Keepin’ my place smack dab at the top of that paper until something more academic and kosher pops into my head.  But yeah, who’s Meen-”

“Yo suckerfish, long time no sea.” Jane felt a tap on her head.  “What brings ya to my side of the reef?”

“Meenah!” Jane jumped up and hugged the woman in question behind her, who pretended to grimace and patted her back.  

“Ugh, you sound like Cuttlefish back there.  Dial the enthusiasm down a conch, would ya?” She stepped back, crossing her arms over her pale blue apron, which covered what Jane knew to be a ratty (almost) black tank top and her black baking pants. "Fef, bring Crocker a blueberry muffin, wouldya? And who's this seaweedy fella?"

"This is Dave, my best friend’s little brother. I haven't seen him in years!! He goes to the same college Feferi and I do."

Dave muttered something under his breath before saluting Meenah with two fingers. "Sup. Dave Strider. Shaken, not stirred."

"Nice to meet ya. You treatin' my Janey aight?"

Jane glared, blushing slightly. "Meenah!"

"Oh, I gotcha." She half-grinned, nodding at Dave. "Jane, he's cute as fuck. Go for it."

"MEENAH!!"

She grinned wider. "Aight, aight. Here's your muffin." Meenah took a plate from Feferi, who was giggling behind her hand, and placed it on the table. "Enjoy, guppies.  I gotta go harass the fresh meat a bit more.  Fucker can’t clean a burnt pan to save his life."

Jane breathed in slowly, glaring at the oversized muffin. A slight puff of steam rose from it, and she pursed her lips. "Here." Grabbing a knife and pat of butter from the center of the table, she sliced the muffin in two and slathered butter on her half.  Dave took the knife from her handle-first as she bit into the side.   _Mmm._  For all her constant back-sass and tendency to try to hook her up with random dudes (and ladies, Meenah’s queerdar was incredibly strong), she was a damned good baker.  

The sun rolled out from behind the clouds, rendering Dave’s shades transparent for a few moments, and Jane could see his eyes go wide when he took a bit of the other half of the muffin.  “Hmmmy fffk.”  He chewed with his eyes closed and swallowed.  “Holy almighty mother of confectionaries in baking heaven, Batman, that is the best muffin I’ve had the pleasure of cramming into my mouth.”

“I’ll let her know next time I see her,” Jane smiled, picking up her muffin again.  “What did you say before, though?”

Dave looked up with a mouthful of muffin. “Nnf.” He swallowed.  “Uh.  Nothing terribly important.”  He ripped a large chunk of the muffin off and shoved it into his mouth.  

“No, seriously, what was it?”

He pointed at his mouth and shrugged.  A tiny piece of muffin fell off the bit that still stuck out of his mouth, and he looked up over Jane’s shoulder, pretending to be nonchalant.  

Jane crossed her arms and leveled her best interrogation glare at him.  

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Dave gulped down the rest of his muffin and drained his coffee.  Jane’s muffin sat on her plate as she continued to stare at him.  

“Okay, FINE!” Dave threw up his hands and made a face.  “I’m just really sick of being ‘The Little Brother,’ alright?” He put his elbows on the table and hunched his shoulders.  “I thought I’d actually have a shot at someo- something without being in Dirk’s shadow for once, and it turns out you guys were fuckin’ bosom buddies or some shit in high school and now you’re gonna see him every time you look at me. Again.”

Jane sighed.  “Dave, I didn’t really know you all that well in high school, and Dirk really only mentioned you in passing a few times.  It’s not going to be an issue with me.”  She reached across the table and poked him in the shoulder.  “Alright?”

He looked up at her, sun sliding back behind the clouds and hiding his eyes again.  “Okay. So, what do you think of the paper?”

“I’ll actually start reading it now,” she teased and looked back down at the laptop.  

 

\-----

 

_“Are you 100% positive about this?”_

“What? Yeah, I haven’t seen them in ages.  It’ll be fun.”

_“And you’ll get out of the apartment, for once.”_

“And that. I wonder how they’re all doing.”

_“I calculate a 99.95% chance that Jake will not be there, however-”_

“I KNOW that, and I don’t want to see him.  It was bad all around, and dredging up memories would just be horrible for both parties.  He’s touring the world with Jade, anyways.”

A laptop is closed and packed into a duffle bag.  

“Book me a hotel near the campus.”

_“Can do, bro of my heart.”_

“Shut up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's probably who you think it is. We'll see more of them in a couple chapters, don't worry. If you think you know who it is, message me at my tumblr (mazreynold) and see if you're right!!


End file.
